


Every Inch of You is Perfect

by asexualcas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom!Cas, Canon-adjacent, Crack, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, Getting Together, Kissing, Lowkey Sub!Dean, M/M, Smut, Top!Cas, bottom!Dean, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 18:51:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18580492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexualcas/pseuds/asexualcas
Summary: In which Dean Winchester does not bottom, Castiel knows his boyfriend is full of shit, and Sam really hates his life right now.





	Every Inch of You is Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing smut! Even if it doesn't take itself terribly seriously...
> 
> To explain the canon-adjacent tag: this takes place in a mostly-canon 'verse in that Cas is an angel, Sam and Dean are hunters, and they all live together in the bunker but other than that, this fic has never met a canon in her life.
> 
> Enjoy!

When Dean and Cas first get together, it’s inevitable, explosive, and everyone knows within forty-eight hours. Over five hundred dollars exchanges hands, and that’s just the bets they were told about. For the first time in their lives, calls and texts were bombarding them about something other than a looming apocalypse; they could hardly go one hour without someone reaching out with a “congratulations”, “called it”, or “I’m happy for you”.

It isn’t hard to figure out how news got around so quickly. Sam saw them lazily making out the next morning in the tiny motel kitchen next to burnt bread that was cold to the touch, let out a bellow not unlike a charging rhino, and pulled up his stupid newsletter list. Not immediately, of course. He gave them probably the biggest hug either of them had ever received first, then started acting like a “damn girl”.

Not much is certain in their line of work. You never know when a case will be your last, when a loved one won’t bounce back, or when you’ll wake to God singing showtunes in your shower. Absolutely nothing is guaranteed, ever. Except one thing: Dean Winchester does not bottom.

No, he doesn’t care that his boyfriend is an angel. He cares even less about how many levels of blasphemy he commits four or more times a week (not that he’s bragging, of course). No, what Dean Winchester cares about is his manhood, his status as a hunter, and his ability to behead something at any given moment. He can’t do that with a dick in his ass. 

Besides, he never hears Cas complaining. He gets off every time, seems sated and happy afterwards and during… he’s gorgeous. Of course, Cas is always gorgeous, but something about his lips being parted around gasps and moans, the way his body locks up when Dean hits his prostate, the sheen of sweat on his skin, the whines when he wants Dean to speed up, how  _ vocal  _ he is about how much he’s enjoying himself… Dean wouldn’t trade that for the world. 

Even if, once, in passing, when he was drunk so it barely even counts, really, he thought to himself that he might really enjoy switching positions. 

+++

Castiel isn’t stupid. Some may disagree, but he’s not. He’s been around for centuries, knows every language, living and dead. He’s led armies of God’s Angels to victories that altered the history of the universe. So it would be damn embarrassing if he didn’t know his boyfriend inside and out.

It’s not just about being in his head and rebuilding his body — though, yes, that does inform his actions occasionally. No, it’s more about how Dean reactions to various situations. Like how his breath always quickens when Castiel raises his eyebrow just so, or how he opens his mouth for Cas’ tongue immediately, every time, and for a brief moment, shows the beautiful side of him that he thinks he hides so well. The side he only shows to Castiel. The side that wants to be vulnerable, taken care of, and pampered.

Or, in this context, really,  _ desperately,  _ wants to bottom. 

But Castiel is smart. He knows what Dean reacts well to, what would make him close off, and when to broach the subject. Dean is a man of action. Dean is not one to be directly questioned. Dean is  _ very  _ open to suggestion during and about sex.

Cas doesn’t mind bottoming. It’s pleasurable and he enjoys being close to Dean in that way, but he doesn’t love it as much as Dean seems to think he does. Sure, it might be underhanded to exaggerate his noises with the intent to pique Dean’s interest, and he doesn’t like it, but it’s for a good cause. Besides, Dean will understand when all is said and done. He manages his guilt (and the constant inability to sit properly) for about three weeks before putting his plan into action.

It starts small. Castiel is on his back in Dean’s bed, one leg around his waist and the other crooked around Dean’s calf as Dean moves slowly in and out of him. The intimacy is pleasant and Castiel truly believes that every man should have his prostate hit at least once, but it’s time. Dean’s breath is starting to get heavy and his control is slipping, puffs of hair hitting Castiel’s collarbone. Cas brings his hands up from Dean’s waist to caress his back, following the curve of his spine to the top of his ass. He grins at the high-pitched “Cas” that he gets in response and moves down to grab handfuls of Dean’s ass, kneading rhythmically. His thrusts speed up, almost entirely out of his control, and when the telltale signs of his impending orgasm start, Castiel moves one finger of one hand lower. He barely hints at pressure at Dean’s entrance and Dean is coming harder than he has in the time he’s been with Cas. He rocks his hips sporadically through it, trying to get both the pressure of Castiel squeezing his dick and the finger behind him. The combination of Dean losing all control above him, and confirmation of being  _ completely fucking right  _ send Cas over the edge after him. 

+++

If anyone were to ask, Dean would shoot them in the kneecap, but he really enjoys his hole being touched. He had no idea he would like it that much, but Cas seems pretty damn sure every time he does it. And he does it a lot. Almost every time they have sex. He finally admits it after a particularly satisfying round that ended with Dean absolutely screaming as he came with two of Cas’ fingers inside him, massaging his prostate.

Or, at least, he gets close enough to admitting it that Cas gets his drift.

“Hey, uh,” he breaks the comfortable silence nervously, throat sore from yelling. Sam probably heard.  _ Focus.  _ “Do you ever think about, y’know…” he holds up two fingers and rotates his wrist, unable to actually say the word that would imply he wants to maybe try bottoming.

“Switch?” Cas’ voice is horrifyingly calm when he says the word, and Dean can only nod. “I do, Dean. Frequently.” He pauses, looking carefully at Dean. “Is that something you’d be interested in trying?”

Dean feels the denial climb up his throat, pass his uvula, and die on his tongue.

“I mean, if it’s something you want.” 

The near-admission is worth it, if only to see Cas’ face light up like that.

“I think it would be fun for both of us,” he says through a smile. 

Dean’s heart clenches. They’re talking about Dean taking a dick up his ass because he  _ wants to _ , and Castiel looks the same way he does when a cat climbs into his lap. That is, like the universe has just given him the only gift he could ever want. 

It’s that look that makes him think about nothing but getting fucked for the next seventy-two hours. It’s his strong non-brotherly liking for the angel, that’s all. Just the desire to see him happy. It has nothing to do with the actual act. When he thinks about how full he’ll feel, having something bigger than two fingers up there, it all ties back to making his boyfriend happy. He’d do anything to keep that joyous look on Cas’ face. He doesn’t want to. But he’ll endure it. For Cas. Because Dean Winchester does not bottom.

They’re in some random town in North Carolina when it happens. Asheville? Something like that. The morning after they discussed it, Sam found them a case. Pretty simple, just a haunting, but they were all antsy. So they took the drive, salted and burned the bones, in and out, easy. 

Afterwards, the three of them separate to their now-standard respective rooms — Dean’s insistence that they could keep their hands to themselves while Sam was present was met with an disbelieving bitchface and never came up again — Dean and Cas are showered and in bed, discussing their favorite Star Trek captains, and all Dean can think about is getting Cas inside him.

He cuts off a snarky “Well, Shatner is definitely in my top five.” before he can lose his nerve.

“Remember that thing we talked about trying?”

If the change of topic bothers Cas, he doesn’t let it show.

“I do.”

“Do you wanna try it now?” He says it in a rush, probably giving away his giant secret. Again, Castiel just smiles, a hint of eyebrow in the mix now.

“I would love to,” he purrs, shifting so he’s stradling Dean’s hips. He feels the effect immediately. His heart pounds in his chest, his lungs are working harder for the same amount of air, and his pants are quickly becoming tighter under Castiel’s thigh.

Cas leans down to kiss him and he feels some of his nervousness melt away. They’re kissing. He can kiss. This is perfectly fine, entirely normal. He parts his lips for Cas’ tongue as always, only this time, he’s licking with purpose. Normally, it’s soft touches and sweet caresses, but now? Cas is kissing him like he needs it to live, nipping at his lips then soothing them with the pointed tip of his tongue, moaning into his mouth and grabbing his hips desperately as he presses Dean back. 

By the time Dean’s prepped, he’s all but entirely let go of his “no bottoming” rule. His entire body is singing, his back is arched off the bed, and his toes are curled in pleasure. He absolutely loves this, everything about it. And if the look in Cas’ eyes is anything to go by, he does too. His lust-blown eyes are soft with affection, even when they devour him. It’s intoxicating. 

He makes a weird whining noise in the back of his throat when Cas pulls away to get the condom and it doesn’t stop until he’s back, running his hands over Dean’s thighs, making soothing noises. He leans down to kiss him again, gently this time, as he lines up.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” Dean’s voice breaks on the single syllable. “Yeah, Cas, do it.”

Cas kisses down his neck as his hips push forward, and Dean is entirely lost. He feels his body opening to accommodate Castiel’s girth, the stretch  _ burns _ and he absolutely loves it. He knows he’s babbling nonsense, but fuck if he knows what he’s saying. When Cas bottoms out, balls pressed against his ass, Dean can’t keep still, writhing and squirming with just how full he feels, until Cas presses his hips to the mattress. 

He lets out a whimper at being restrained, trying to move his hips to get this show on the road. When Cas tightens his hold and doesn’t budge, he moves his hands to grasp Cas’ thighs, pulling gently, trying to get his boyfriend to just fuck him already.

“I will only move once you calm down, Dean,” he says, voice an octave lower than usual. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He has a point, as loathe as Dean is to admit it. He wants Cas to get going already, make him feel it for days, but he also doesn’t want his first experience to be rushed and hazy; he wants to remember this. So he settles down, breathes, and adjusts to Castiel, Angel of the Lord, being balls deep in his ass.

Eventually, only after Cas trusts that he’s ready and Dean gives a nod, he moves. And if he thought Cas being inside him felt good, he had no idea. 

The first slow glide almost kills him. He looks up to see Castiel’s face screwed up in pleasure, control slipping when he presses all the way back in, and he only loves this a little bit more for it. And the noises he’s making as he pulls out again… Jesus. 

Once they’ve established a pace, Cas aims a frenzied smile at him, adjusts his angle, and delivers one sharp thrust that makes Dean shout, see stars behind his eyelids, and move his hips down to meet Cas’ thrusts. 

_ Prostate _ , his brain supplies before going offline entirely as Cas nails that one spot with deadly precision. He barely lasts another thirty seconds.

After the blinding pleasure fades, all that’s left is his own soft voice muttering “Castiel” like a prayer and the angel himself pillowed on his chest, softening dick sliding out of his hole on its’ own

 

+++

 

Sam misses a lot of things. He missed that Dean was bi until he saw him making out with their best friend in some random kitchen, he missed that wrapped cheese needs to be unwrapped before being placed on a griddle, and there was the one memorable time that he missed the giant carton of salt during a hunt, which almost got them all killed. 

But he doesn’t miss the weird air between Dean and Cas when they meet up the next morning. Cas seems unchanged, but Dean seems shy and slightly withdrawn. He concludes that they got into some dumb fight about movies or air temperature and lets it go.

It lasts a few more days. He still doesn’t press, but he’s becoming passively curious. They’re still disgustingly in love, holding hands in diners, sleeping in the same bed every night, thanking each other with touches rather than words, so it’s nothing serious. Dean probably kicked Cas in the shin in his sleep one night and feels bad about it. However, he keeps thinking up increasingly unlikely things that happened between them, so the entire situation serves more as comic relief than an actual source of stress.

After a few days, the awkwardness vanishes. It’s back to perfectly in-sync, gushy-and-in-love bullshit all the time and he needs to bring it up. After all, it’s his Chuck-given right as both brother and best friend to tease them relentlessly.

Dean is seated next to Cas and a fresh plate of pancakes sits in the middle of their table. They all dig in, complimenting Dean on his stellar cooking as always when Sam says something.

“So, did Dean stop stealing the blankets, or what?”

He’s met with twin blank stares at his obviously hilarious joke, so he rolls his eyes and tries again.

“You two have had a weird vibe going since we got back from North Carolina,” he explains. “I figured Dean was stealing the blankets or kept the room too warm or something.” He shrugs and shoves another bite of pancake into his mouth, oblivious to the rising color in Dean’s cheeks. “But you’re all lovey-dovey and in sync again, so… gotta tease you. Make up for lost time, y’know?” He swallows his bite, still entirely unaware of his brother’s panic.

“Oh, there was no fight,” Cas answers for both of them. “I first penetrated your brother in Asheville. The awkwardness you’ve been sensing was due to the fact that we both knew Dean wanted to do it again, but he refused to ask. He got over himself yesterday after dinner and allowed me to make love to him again.”

Once, in a sociology class at Stanford, Sam learned about the stages of grief. Specifically, he learned that grieving was messy. It’s a process, and the person experiencing the loss can go back and forth between the first four stages before eventually accepting the event as it is, at which point they can fully move on. Currently, he’s stuck somewhere between denial and bargaining, gaping at the pair across from him. Dean drops his head into his hands, face on fire, and Cas takes another bite of pancake. Sam wishes he could drop dead, here and now, so he would never need to hear  _ anything  _ like that ever again. 

No, actually, he wishes he could get his hands on a Time-Turner and risk it, drag himself from twenty seconds ago away from the table before he could ask. 

Cas’ voice pulls him out of his fourth round with bargaining. Shame, really; he was about to start back up with denial, and that’s much easier.

“Can one of you pass the butter?”

They both reply with a sharp “ _ No!”  _ at the same time, Dean’s voice muffled slightly from his self-inflicted hand barrier. Sam, however, gets the full effect of Cas’ signature confused head tilt.

“I don’t understand,” he starts. “What did I say?”

Sam looks desperately at the top of Dean’s head. When it only provides a helpless groan in response, he tries to find the words to explain in a way that doesn’t involve actually acknowledging this conversation.

“Usually,” he explains slowly. “Especially when family dynamics are involved, that information is kept private.”

He’s pretty proud of it, actually. It’s simple, clear, has nothing to do with his brother… doing that. But, naturally, Cas doesn’t get it, and Sam really just wants to leave.

“You’ll catch some of it, Sam,” Cas says as if he’s a parent explaining puberty to a pre-teen. “We share a bunker and Dean is very loud when he-”

Sam feels nauseous. Which is impressive, given that he isn’t entirely convinced that he’s currently occupying his body. He watches as Dean shoots an arm out to slap a hand over Castiel’s mouth. His head stays down and Sam really doesn’t want to know how he was able to so accurately locate his mouth in this position. 

“Cas,” Dean says weakly. “He doesn’t need to know  _ any  _ of this. I beg of you, please stop talking.”

Sam knows it’s really time to leave when he sees the effect his brother’s words have on Castiel. The angel’s confused stare turns heated and dark, and even Sam can tell there’s a wicked smirk hidden behind Dean’s hand.

“I’ll be finishing my breakfast in my room,” Sam announces, breaking the honestly suffocating sexual tension as his utensils clatter against his plate. Neither one of them acknowledges his words and their eye-fucking is light years past what Sam is comfortable witnessing.

Try as he might, he can’t block out Dean’s decided lack of disagreement at Castiel’s suggestion that “it might be fun.” as he walks away from the kitchen.

Upon reaching his room, he pulls out a pad of paper and starts a grocery list:

  1. Noise-cancelling headphones
  2. Milk
  3. A padlock



**Author's Note:**

> I'm @asexualcas on tumblr. Come say hi!
> 
> (If you think it's an Easter egg, it probably is. Comment what you found!)


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